


hold my hand

by swanboulet



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Post 2x17, honestly a whole bunch of angst, implied canon character death, post episode conclusion, this is short but v sad okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10333106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanboulet/pseuds/swanboulet
Summary: the aftermath of a hard day at work, or what happens in the moments after everything has come crashing down around you





	

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my partner in crime who enables me to write sad stuff all the time. unbeta-ed. the world needs way more will/connor and i'm just here to provide.

It takes all of Will’s strength just to make it to the break room. The adrenaline crash hits him at once as soon as he has a moment to himself, and suddenly he’s shaky and his vision is narrowed to a dim tunnel ahead of him, and his head is pulsing with what must be the worst headache in recent memory. 

He collapses onto one of the armchairs and curls into himself, knees drawn up to his chest, a lot more vulnerable than what he’d usually allow himself at work. But here he is, nauseated and pale and holding onto his own knees like the steady grip against his scrubs’ thin cotton is the only thing keeping him somewhat grounded. 

Exhaling slowly, Will lowers his head and rests it against his hands. His skin feels almost like rubber, cool and clammy and not his own. He closes his eyes, and focuses on breathing. The one part of his mind that’s still functioning and medical knows that this is either a panic attack, or sheer relief, or both, with a dash of mind-numbing grief. That same part of his mind knows that the world won’t stop turning if he remembers to breathe. 

There, Will loses track of time. He doesn’t hear when the door opens and someone walks in, and then a voice is calling his name — “Will.” — and he flinches and looks up. 

“I’m— sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Connor says and shoots him what would’ve been an apologetic smile, any other day. His lips barely twitch and Will can’t help noticing how exhausted he looks, dark circles under his eyes and stubble contrasting with his pale skin. 

“Are you okay?” Will asks, and they both know it’s pointless. Connor shrugs, and drags a chair over to sit across from him, close enough for his knees to brush against the side of Will’s chair. Will finds himself wanting to rest his head in Connor’s lap but he can’t find it in himself to move, so he just sighs and forces himself to keep his eyes open instead. 

Connor reaches out. His hand hovers inches away from Will, and then he drops it on the seat of Will’s chair. 

“I had a patient today,” Will starts, and it takes so much to keep his voice level. His chest feels like he’s sobbing already, tight and heavy, and each breath is so uneven. Connor fixes his eyes on him and it propels him forward. He explains the case quietly, slowly, taking breaks where he’d be pissed at Ethan if he could find the energy for that. 

“He— was scared, I guess?” Will carries on. “Of… moving away and of that conversation with his parents and his body just— just stopped? For—“ He doesn’t say for love because he’s talking about a schoolboy crush, and knows it’s not that, not really, and yet it seems to boil down to it. 

“I can understand,” Connor says quietly, and his voice sounds like he’s been silent for days. He clears his throat and then nods slowly, a look of intense concentration taking over his face.

There’s so much that is going unsaid, and it feels like torture. This is about so much more than workday stories now and Will feels it in the way his head spins a little, like he’s at the top of a rollercoaster and he knows he’s about to tip down any second now. 

Connor’s eyes dart up at the glass wall separating them from the hallway. 

Outside, the night is winding down, quiet and heavy, as if the walls themselves have been having a day just as hard as everyone within them. 

“He’s a brave kid,” Connor says finally, and his hand moves just a little. Will watches him helplessly, all too aware of the glass around them, of how heavy he feels, of how much this isn’t the right time for any of this at all. 

“Someone’s gotta be brave,” he manages. 

Connor twitches, sighs deeply, and then moves again. He takes Will’s hand in his, gently tugging it away from his knee. 

“Connor—“ 

“Please.” 

It stuns both of them into silence. 

“Please,” Connor repeats, gripping his hand tighter now. “I— if—“ 

“I don’t mind.” 

Will smiles. Almost. The laugher lines around his eyes get just slightly deeper, and his eyes look maybe just a little bit clearer. It makes Connor’s head spin. 

He bows his head down and presses his lips to Will’s very cold knuckles. It’s the single most intimate thing anyone’s ever dared to do to Will, and it feels terrifying, and at the same time it feels like the vice around his heart is just a little bit looser. 

It almost feels like he’ll remember how to walk steady on his feet and breathe easily, eventually. 

“I don’t get to go home for six more hours,” Will whispers, and his voice sounds small and exhausted. 

Connor lingers for another second and then pulls back very gently, his thumb brushing against the freckled skin on the inside of Will’s wrist. 

“You should nap— try to,” he says quietly, and very gently tugs on his hand. “Go find a room— lie down a little.” 

Will nods and gets up, all autopilot and gentle guidance now. 

“Will you—“ he starts. 

“I will.” 

Connor waits a minute after he walks out, and then stands up, wipes his eyes, and follows him down the hallway.


End file.
